The boys were drooling. These weren’t just any girls baring flesh before them, it was the HOT TV girls. Not all their flesh of course – for this was a respectable village, with families, seniors and religious folk – but enough to be racy. Plump curves were pushed out, and where appropriate, pushed together. Neon hot pants and bra tops did a great job. They came in bright yellow, hot pink, electric blue, and lime green. These hot sorbets boiled young blood at the heart of town. All the boys appreciated this show of pneumatic female charms, but not everyone knew who they were. One boy caught a girl’s attention and asked, “What is HOT TV?”

She puckered her lips and gave him a saucy look, and said, “Don’t you know it when you see it, baby?” The boy went as pink as her bra top, and as his friends laughed, touched upon coral red.

Sophie was the only girl not wearing hot pants. She was in blue jeans and white T-shirt, official uniform of producers worldwide. Sometimes the girls made her feel sick; their carnal display was a step back for feminism maybe fifty years, when men thought there were only two kinds of women, the housewife and the party girl.

These girls were out of tune with modern female aspirations. Didn’t they wish to be respected for their brains rather than their bootys? Their display served a purpose though; they were honey pots, sticky sirens, flirty fishers of men. In a small village on the edge of the bush, where jobs were scarce, they were generating legal, taxable income. Some received additional welfare, but at least they were earning something.

The girls were also an asset in the office. HOT TV shared a space with a web development company, COOLSPACE. This bunch of nerds had little experience of women, except of course for hot babes in the games they devised, for whom they created names, vital statistics, clothes – or lack of them – and hair colours. Contact with real women caused them to freeze. If there was any kind of technical problem, all it took was for a HOT TV girl to wander over to COOLSPACE, and the issue was soon resolved. Sophie’s attempts were usually less successful.

Sophie produced HOT TV’s live shows. She dealt with every aspect of production, including idea development, screenwriting, set design, casting, fact checking, shoot supervision, and often directing; she was responsible for the overall quality and final delivery of the film.

Today’s shoot was more bearable than usual. There was no water or jelly involved, just people and location. Her job was to make a film to promote the new space at the centre of the village; the redeveloped car park now called The Place.

Groups of HOT TV girls were stationed at the highway, at the town’s roundabout, and of course at The Place. A steady stream of guys was attracted to the desired location, where they were interviewed and filmed. She needed vox pops and some mischievous antics; that always pleased viewers.

Guys arriving at The Place were seated at tables and served local food and drink. This week had an organic agenda – salad plates, vegan sweet loaves, strawberry hummus, and herbal iced teas. Some of them wanted natural beef burgers and sustainable hot dogs, but they were long gone. Sophie took a quick break. She went to her truck and then the washroom; she made some urgent calls and returned.

The HOT TV girls were all huddled together, and the boys had all gone. “The bastards groped us!” they shouted in chorus; all were angry; some were crying. “They said we were flirting, and they groped us.”

“Oh my God!” said Sophie. “Have you called the cops?”

This was a stupid business, thought Sophie, HOT TV. Teasing guys too far. But it allowed single mums to earn a living. She wondered if there was a better way; something more wholesome; something better for their children. What about TOT TV?


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